


This is How to be Human

by irialnightwatch



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, BAMF Stiles, Dark Stiles, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Eventual Smut, Fae & Fairies, Fae Stiles, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Oblivious Derek, Sex Is Not The Enemy, Stiles-centric, Temporary Amnesia, Unseelie Court, blocked memories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-02-06 13:20:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1859520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irialnightwatch/pseuds/irialnightwatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is an Unseelie prince, third in line to Mab's throne. His mom taught him and made him forget before her death, but he remembers now, the sword fighting his perfect grace, but he hides it because he doesn't want to risk his dad or his happy mortal life. Then his only friend is infected with lycanthropy, and Derek Hale happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Oughta Know

**Author's Note:**

> This work is currently seeking 1-3 people willing to beta. If you happen to be interested, leave a comment or I guess contact me in my ask on tumblr- aridiangelo. Follow me even, if you want updates on fics, and art. Because I cant figure out how to get that on here.. I will eventually, I'm sure.

Nobody knew. Nobody knew that Stiles wasn’t human, would never be human, has never been human. His father? Well he didn’t know either, nor would he ever, if Stiles got his way. His parent had a happy marriage, a good life together, and whether or not stiles was completely human never really mattered. But then his mother died. Then little things started happening at first, things he couldn't explain, then he started getting headaches, and at first, he wrote it of as greif, then dust motes quit being random, they gained something other, a new life.Because they weren’t dust, they were alive. They talked, whispered. His eyes went from brown to liquid gold and honey. He started seeing things he couldn’t explain. He started doing things he couldn't explain.  
He started remembering things that he hadn't before. He remembered what was happening, how to control it and pleasant memories of his mom. He remembered how to hide it all. And his dreams became sweet. Nostalgic, instead of making him wake up in tears.  
“Genim, listen to Mommy. Three rules honey, what are they?”  
He smiles up at his mommy, proud as can be, because he knows, “One, don't tell anybody my name. Two, don’t play with the whispers, and three don’t ever make promises.”  
She smiles and her honey gold eyes flicker and she leans over, faint herbal scent and warmth drifted over him as she kissed his forehead. “Good. Genim, this much you should never forget, honey.”  
That was the first and least bizarre of his returning memories, but they left him with a cruel certainty. His oddest, in fact, was of his cousins, two years younger than her was. His cousins, twins with no definable outward signs of gender and glowing green eyes, and pointed ears. The fact they looked like extras in a Lord of the Rings movie wasn’t the weird part though, that honor went to the dancing, the way they moved with feline grace despite the fact they were maybe four years old, in this memory and they moved with more grace that professional dancers.  
He remembers the rules. He knows what and who he is. He’s Genim Stilinski, son of Claudia, called Saoi among her own people, princess heir to the Unseelie throne. He is the youngest of three heirs of Mab. He is a prince of winter. His cousins, the children of a fourth son of the Queen Mab, disinherited for having children with the shape-changer Puck, he and his dearest love, as he remembered his mother teasingly calling him, created a new court, the court of the Wyldwood. He is Sixteen years old, half fey, and smarter and more powerful than anyone will ever believe. He is friends with Scott, yes, true, and Scott knew his real name as a sign of faith, yes, but Stiles was an Unseelie prince. He had control, even as Scott began his transition into lycanthropy. But all it took to shatter his well disguised control- yes thank you the act was perfect, no one, including his fey relatives saw through it, so they don’t write, they don’t call, thank gods, and surprise, he was as graceful as his cousins. The first honestly clumsy moment in Stiles life is due to Derek-Freaking-Hale just sort of coalescing out of the misty forest.  
Its barely anything really. A little half stumble and a odd loose roll of his head in utter shock. He hates to say it but he understands uncle Briar and Puck now certainly.  
At that moment, Stiles is in love. At that moment, Derek Hale is no longer his own man. His perfectly gelled black hair belongs to Stiles. Every bit of his ghostly pale skin belongs to him now, his leather jackets his pain and damn, Stiles' father is an officer of the law. He knows that these thoughts are not love but obsession in the eyes of a human, and for now, he may concede the point. But Derek, who gracefully, forcefully tosses Scott his now useless inhaler, would come to see the potential- yes potential, if not yet love, that was chemical, wild and already growing between them as he gasp to Scott the fateful words of "Thats Derek Hale, his whole family died in a fore a few years ago."He belongs to Stiles, right down to the heterochromia in his pretty eyes, because Stiles says so latter that night, answers the whispers that are really boogiemen and jacks of irons and nuckelavee, when he was near the ocean, Stiles eyes glow pure gold and flash as he growls his claim into the night. “Derek Hale belongs to me. Cross or dishonor my claim, and I will kill you. I will kill you slowly, you will suffer the wrath of the Grandson of Mab as you have never seen before.”  
The California air cracks with ice at his claim, and the whispers fall silent in fear, their shadows draw deep into the woods to the nearest trod to the Unseelie Court to tell Mab her grandson was coming into his own.  
Stiles grins in exuberance and terror and sets out to find out every last thing about Derek Hale. Oh, certainly to get to know him but there would be..dates- no too casual- a courtship? Ah yes. He would court him, and the pain and the lovely glamour filled aura of pain and suffering, guilt and grief that surrounded his intended would feed his power. But to do this, Derek cannot escape cannot run when he finds out and for that to happen. Well. He has a deal to make. Derek would never leave him again. He would be bound to learn and to know Stiles- but Stiles was feeling gracious. Derek's love for him would be the best thing that ever happened to him. Stiles wouldn't deceive him in anything. He would let Derek's love for him grow as organically as Stiles' own love, he would make Derek his secret keeper and be Derek's knight in return. He will go to war for him, give him a home again, starting tomorrow, Stiles was going to go to the coin shop- the one downtown that dealt in rare coins worth tons of money and sell a coin he'd inherited from his mom. He's looked it up a few times. It was a liberty-headed nickel, and he had two. Out of an existing five. His mother had a knack for finding such things. One was mint condition, and worth nearly 20 million. And Stiles had an entire chest full of little valuable things like them. He didn't really have a plan yet but it was always best to be prepared, right?


	2. Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek saw Stiles that first time in the woods and found himself with a tiny, niggling sense his whole life had changed again, after losing his family, Laura, and with the rogue alpha on the loose, he had no reason to believe it would be a good thing..

Derek was emotionally exhausted, grieving and irrational. He knew that when he buried Laura's torso in what used to be the Hale house garden. The grief was too much, too fast. he didn't cry because he couldn't. As much pain as he was in, he still had to hold it together. There just wasn't a choice. But he also needed to be able to think. So he went on a run. He could hear Laura chortling and teasing from the grave. His heart clenches, and really the only thing he can think of is how much he hates himself. How much of a failure he is- first his family, then every friend he thought he'd had, then even though he had already failed Laura by being responsible for the fire, then he was too weak to get on the plane and go back to Beacon Hills. Laura- well she'd been his alpha, he loved his sister, even when she teased. But since the fire- well he didn't respond anymore. He couldn't snap and tell he the truth about the fire. About  _her._  She deserved to know and he was to selfish, to pathetic to tell her. It's been the New Years resolution he's broken every year. She would have been so disappointed, she'd have quit teasing and just stare at him with the same dead eyes as he saw in the mirror becau- his fist hit a charred beam that released a stomach turning wave of scent. Derek his his knees and wretched all over the leaves that covered the floor of his childhood home.

He didn't have anything to live for. Not the house, not the insurance money. All that was left, the only possibility in his life was a bitten beta, and killing the rogue alpha. After the new beta had control. After that his responsibilities to Laura and his mother would be fulfilled. And he wouldn't need to go on with his make-shift anchor of pain. Oh, he would always insist to Laura and any other were that it was anger. But only at himself. And how much it hurt every time he was happy for a single second with his family dead. How much it hurt to eat- he couldn't enjoy it. He used to love eating. Laura's oatmeal/peanut butter/chocolate chip cookies had been the light of his Saturday afternoons, when each kid would spend an hour with his father, concocting whatever they could think of until they each got a specialty. He hadn't been able to eat anything with more flavor than plain rice and beans, without even salt or pepper and undressed salad since his whole life went to hell. He didn't miss it.

He was sprinting now through the woods, blind to the eyes that watched him run without any real regard to the thorns and branches that cut his skin, or the glow of pale gold unlike a beta's that followed him through the trees or the footsteps. It wasn't until he snapped his ankle on a loose rock and skidded into a clearing, his side and arm puncturing on snapped twigs and loose gravel and his chest heaving that the tears came. And it wasn't until the tears came that the boy from yesterday made his way through trees and crouch over him, the scent of satisfaction curling around him as he crouched over Derek's prone form and put a hand over the nape of his neck in a gesture too possessive and dominant for their limited interaction. Namely the fact they'd only met the day before, and hadn't even spoken to each other, even if the kid had known his name.

He tries to growl him away but the sobs don't let him. Then he makes the mistake of turning to look at him with his lips pulled back into a weak snarl and he nearly chokes on the snot that clogs his throat. His eyes glow unearthly honey-gold, the light dancing in excitement. He isn't wearing yesterday's layers and converses, and his hair isn't buzzed short, but artfully tousled above his strange eyes and circlet. It looks like he's wearing some kind of eyeliner, and he's wearing some sort of draped tunic that flows around his muscles. His ears are pointed, Derek thinks blearily. His lips curl up into a triumphant smirk as Derek shivers, because he knows what is crouched over him. Sihde. Fae. Faery. He swallows and lowers his eyes because this creature? He's what werewolfs told scary stories about. He's the monster that took little weres that didn't keep to their pack. And he senses Derek's fear, because he  _smiles_ like he thinks his teeth, with his long canines- all four of the shiny, glistening things, will comfort Derek.

He's wrong. He's definitely wrong. But Derek doesn't run because he has no will left to live the pain is so bad. Then the smiling fey pulls Derek up, effortlessly, so effortlessly and touches his forehead to his own. Then he sucks in air- and something else, taking in the pain swallowing the first bit of emotional turmoil. Then he lets his neck go slack and just moans. Arousal fills the air, sharp and musky like nothing Derek's ever smelt before, pink tongue worrying at the boy's equally pink mouth thats slack in pleasure, and Derek wimpers. He's going to die it's going to eat his fucking soul, he wouldn't see his family ever again, not even- the fey boy's finger touches against his lips. "Shhh, Derek. No need to be afraid. I'm going to take care of you." He murmured, sweetly, gently, like he means it.

"At what price?" Derek barely has the control to whimper out the words, even as the fey's smile grows impossibly wider.

"Nothing you'll miss, precious one. Not a thing you'll miss."

Derek shudders in pure unadulterated terror. The words unnerved him. Especially since he had nothing that would be of value to this thing.

"Oh, but don't you? You still have so much, Derek." Fuck, he's said it aloud.

"And anyways, I don't really want much, Der. Just maybe a little bit of your company. Some help training my friend Scott in the finer points of being a lycan. Hardly a thing at all. In return I'll even drain the pain and guilt from you, bit by delicious bit. Hardly an offer you can refuse, don't you think, Derek Hale? If its not I would be disappointed. I mean. Well. You don't want that anymore than you want to deal with the consequences of my... displeasure, do you?"

Derek's eyes widen impossibly more. He's trapped. He hasn't said a word to bind him yet but he know's he's trapped. He can feel it. The boys power. In a way he hadn't when the boy was glamoured and his true form out of sight. If he ran he would die. If he accepted, he might live but what did this thing want? What about the creature that killed Laura? It leaned in, lips brushing his ear. "I can, for a little more, bring back your sister. Your alpha. All you have to do, all you have to promise, is that you will never leave me. You will stay within ten miles. You will come when I ask for you. I'm going to leave, now Derek, and let you think about it. I am, after all nothing if not gracious. Oh- and I don't usually talk like this. This is business speak, mmkay? And you have until the full moon to answer, or your sister's body will be too rotten to heal and revive. You should be able to find me easily enough.: He sucked another pull at the air and Derek. Derek's heart stopped aching. The pain was gone. Stiles moaned like he thought he was being filmed for a porno or a bad sci-fi movie, and smirked down at him. "Just ask for Stiles Stilinski" He finishes cheerfully enough for it to be disconcerting.

Stiles rose gracefully and disappeared, scent and all, like he'd only a been a dream, though Derek knew better. He felt less pain than he had since before the fire.  
And he understood now why humans were fascinated by drugs that never worked on Derek because of his lycanthropy. He felt good and for the first time in ages, he didn't feel bad about it. Laura would have wanted this for him. His head was clear to think about how he was going to explain this to her when he got her back. For the first time since his family died because of him his stomach growled.  
He went back to the old Hale house and changed clothes before heading to the the San Angelo's, the mexican resteraunt his family went to every Friday. He was so hungry. It's been six days since Laura made him eat. For the first time in so, so long, he tasted his food. It was as good as he remembered.  
A glamoured from human sight Stiles smiles fondly at his Derek. His Derek, eating. It's been two days since he laid eyes on him in the woods, and he hadn't eaten, probably since before then. Adding a little hunger when he took his pain had been nothing. Nothing if Derek would be healthy. As long as Derek lived, Stiles would protect his love. Even if it meant dirty, underhanded tricks to keep him fed and clothed.  
He pays Derek's bill with a hundred and tells the waitress to keep the change while Derek's sipping at a glass of horchata.


	3. Walking on the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn what being fey has meant to Stiles in the past, Stiles regrets his harsh bargain with Derek- Derek asks about his contract. And more of Stiles being a possessive little shit.

Stiles had felt… foggy and compulsive, since meeting Derek in the woods. And honestly, it wasn’t until he had fed on the emotions and glamour that he’d snapped out of it. God, had he really made that ultimatum? His fey side had gotten… out of hand. Oh, the urge to just sort of- well to just trip up people’s words, make them promise things they didn’t mean to- it was always there. The only thing about it is that a promise to him couldn’t be broken. It was literally physically impossible to do so. How his dad hadn’t noticed, Stiles would never know.

The whole, promise you’ll come home safe shtick really should have gotten suspicious around the third time a bullet changed course to avoid him in a fire fight. And the power to do that through a verbal contract… well it was temptation personified. All that had to be done was that there must be a service and a payment, agreed upon by both parties, and boom, ironclad, unbreakable agreement. If one looked at the wording of his nightly agreement with the Sheriff, the Sheriff promises to stay safe, which Stiles uses to place a protection around him, and in return, his dad comes home to him. And it worked with out him knowing because the “payment” was so low. Stiles’ magic could do a lot with out a contract, but with one? He was unstoppable, and nothing was impossible, or even improbable. Raising the dead without consequences to them? Well, Death was one of the first fey. He’s always willing to take a trade- provided the person hasn't lived 300 years already, then in his opinion they’ve had enough time. Stiles knew. He’d tried to bring his mom back so desperately, but Death’s own condolences for his loss and reassurances that his mother was happy where she was and sent her best had put an end to that. He’d still traded his beloved iguana for the message, but Death dealt gentle trades. Death was kind.

Living fey, however, were cruel, in a way that only an eon of time to think, and a tremendous amount of sheer boredom could produce. Stiles was young, and despite his whirling thoughts and mediocre boring life before Scott’s bite, he had neither excuse. He did the only thing he could do when he was guilty with no way to fix it- seeing as he was even less able to slip the bonds of a contract than Derek, seeing as if he succeeded he might literally cease to exist. No freaking joke. If a fey breaks a promise they literally just start… unbecoming, fading around the edges, and over a course of about a week, simply quit being. Like they’d never existed. People forget they ever were. Its a fate literally worse than death because it’s like you never existed at all. And the same went for a contractee of the fey. God, What had he done. He boots up the X-box and settles in for a HALO marathon while he’s alone with his guilt and Scott is at his ill fated party. Whatever. Stiles has been freaking reckless all weak so he’d made Scott promise he wouldn’t hurt anyone or do loose control of himself to night. In return, Stiles was bringing cookies to share with Allison Monday.

Oh, yeah. His deals sucked on purpose. Scott should have been the one offering payment in exchange for the control a promise to Stiles provided, not getting fucking cookies, but whoop-tee-doo-da-day, Stiles had a friends and family discount. “Freaking Scott.”

There’s that little brat with the rocket launcher. Stiles aims and shoots. Then he steals back the rocket launcher, inputs an unlimited ammo cheat and camps by the respawn point. “Freaking rogue alpha.”

He hits three guys who just respawned and feels a little better when the X-box head set on the ground crackles with muffled swearing. And on the edge of Stiles’ perception there’s a crackle. A very.. Derek shaped crackle. Stiles grits his teeth and pulls up his glamour. Little kid buzz cut, dulled eyes and round ears. Check. There’s a sharp rapping at the front door.

Respectful of him, Stiles muses, surprised he was brave enough to be seen by the public going to talk to the sheriff’s underage son. Who customarily addressed his father as Sheriff. He sighs and flicks his wrist, opening the front door and calling one of his willow-the-wisps to escort his Derek in. He had a few of the tiny fey. They were easy. They stayed and did his bidding so long as he left out a saucer of cinnamon-honey milk in the morning before he left for school, or a bit of honey every ever so often. So long as they didn’t get hungry. They’re great pets. Very affectionate, he muses as a second one of the little glowing fuzz balls nuzzles the hollow of collarbone. Call one, they all come out of the woodworks. There’s currently’ eight of them, all different glowing colors. Blue, purple, pink, amber, neon green, teal, brown and white. Derek was following the littlest amber one Stiles had named V. She’d been the first one he’d adopted. Having so many made him like, the crazy cat lady of wisp.

V chirps and zips over and rubs on his face. Derek was kind of just gawking at him. Stiles clears his throat. “This one is V, they’re, ah, willow-the-wisp.”

“They can open doors?” His Derek asks, his voice incredulous.

Stiles laughs awkwardly. “Ah. No. I did that. From up here. I was um. Sulking? I- the deal I offered you. I can’t take any other options than the ones I gave you, because they’re like a contract in and of themselves. And I sort of. I gave you a deal my uncles and grandmother would have been proud of. But my Mom. She would have been disappointed in me.”

Derek’s eyes narrow.”That sound like an apology.”

Stiles laughs awkwardly. “I am providing unsolicited information without a price. An apology would in-debt me to you. This is a gift.”

“A peace-offering?” Derek ask. Perceptive of him. Stiles nods. Stiles is glad he's made a claim on him.

“OK.” Derek murmurs. “OK.”

He was smart enough. He was going to learn this game quickly. Stiles sighs purposefully, with a sound like deep guilt. He only feels a little guilty that he's trying to get Derek to offer him his heart.

He can't help but think he's exactly what Derek needs, the more he's convinced they're going to be perfect together when Derek falls for him. Derek's stoic where Stiles is expressive. Quieter than Stiles, for sure. Derek is willing to let someone care for him. In fact, he's used to it though he'd never admit it, from what Stiles muses. “Remember, this doesn’t mean any of my terms have changed. They have been made. They were agreed to- they weren’t bartered down or up, and no argument is considered agreement.”

“But Laura. You can really? She wont be..different?”

Stiles smiles softly. How devoted. It's. Sweet, really cute. He feels a warm niggling feeling in his belly for his Derek, his blue eyed beta.

“No. She’ll be whole, and remember everything up until her death. If there’s any change, its from the trauma of being murdered.”

“OK, I just.” Derek looks down at his feet.

“What?”

“I don’t wanna mess up anymore.”

“I’ll try and make this the best choice you’ve ever made, Derek Hale.” Stiles says with such force and earnestness, so opposite of the cold tone of Stiles' voive naming the terms of the contract Derek wonders if being fey is like being a werewolf, if the urges can take tou over and make you do things you wouldn't otherwise, and Derek’s head jerks up- entirely by accident, he meets Stiles’ eyes. There's a fierceness there. The glamour around Stiles flickers, like he wants to drop it be remembers how terrified Derek had been, and details are coalescing that Derek has been too terrified to see that day keep drifting in an out of focus.

Blood red motifs of thorns that flow over his arms and up his neck, and down on his chest in celtic knots. His flannel shirt- which, apparently he wasn’t actually wearing, kept flickering out of existence. “Don’t count yourself out yet. Cheer up, Sourwolf.”

“Don’t call me that.” Was he trying to flirt with him?

“Would you prefer… I don’t know, Der-Bear?” Stiles teases back in control of his glamour.

“No. No, My sister calls me that please no.” Derek shudders.

Stiles smiles, happy that his Derek wasn’t shaking under his gaze. That his Derek was uneasy perhaps, but not horrified. Being his normal self was at least less disconcerting, at least.  He’s still lovely. Stoic expression and soft, half frightened voice. But Stiles can be patient. He can wait until Derek loves him back.

And he can wait until the storm has settled.

"Stiles?"

"Yeah, Sourwolf?" He answers fixing his eyes back on Derek's pretty eyes.

"I accept your terms. Please bring me back my sister. She's all I have except Peter." Stiles feels a white hot spike of jealousy.

"He's been in a coma since the fire though so it's not really like he counts." The jealousy dissipates, and Stiles' face splits into a manic grin and his glamour drops completely.

"Let's go make a deal with Death then, Derek."


	4. Howl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek raise death. Things don't go as planned.

Stiles crouched down into a crouch, tugging the line his chalk was tied to taunt and then set about creating the circle, a perfect circle with fey runes arching with life around the curved edges as he drew them, hungry, as all magic was, wanting to move, to live, to breathe and to devour. To tempt you to go to far. But he knew better. This wild magic one used to call Death was a powerful thing, and something to be respected. Its power was unlike the soft hum of electricity that was his own magic. This was drawn from the force of nature itself, and like nature could give and destroy in equal measure. He hums to himself for a moment, letting it seep deep into his bones before he begins the summoning, chanting in the ancient, sacred tongue of the first language letting gentle, fluid sound rush from his mouth as he ask an audience of Death. He can feel Derek’s eyes on him, centering him, focusing his desires.  
The Hale house basement goes completely and utterly dark and a sharp scent of lemon and herb flows through the room as the chalk lines blaze violent, bloody red and flash pure white at the edges. Stiles voice nearly falters, because last time there had been a soft backlight haze, and then he had been there. Shadows swirl, and become like fog and the caped figure of a young woman solidifies out of the dark. Her robes are the color of bleached bone, runes and fine patterns with the color and harshness of fresh spilt blood decorate the hems of the cape and its hood. Under it, she’s wearing a flowing white skirt, the bottom part flowing with bloodied runes and a red oxblood leather corset that stops at her mid riff. Her hair is inky black and cropped short on one side, buzzed even shorter on the other. Her eyes glow blood red as her lipstick and Stiles flinches from the wildness in her eyes.  
“What? The fuck is going on in Beacon Hills?” She growls looking around, eyes searching “Huh. There’s no one here thats dead… why am I?”  
Stiles gapes out “IRI?!!”  
Her mouth spreads in a wide cheshire-cat grin, her teeth glinting bloody in the light. “Oh,Stiles. Of course its you. It’s been awhile, cousin. So.. Sup?”  
“YOU’RE-“  
“The yelling really isn’t necessary, Genim.”  
“B- bu- but how the hell are you- why the hell-“  
“Am I Death incarnate all the sudden?”  
“YES!!!” Stiles shouts back.  
“…….I dunno.”  
“Oh my gods, you’re kidding me right? How could you not know?” He hisses, more than half incredulous.  
“Eh. Wasn’t difficult. Got caught in the heart with a wyvern tail stinger, boom! I’m dead for like five minutes, then I wake up a fairly major deity.”  
“Oh, god, you’re as bad as Scott.”  
“You’re moronic human minion? Hell no. I have like 55 IQ points on him asshole. I fucking own half of all three courts in contracts, and my jaw’s not fucked up. And I don't ride a bike to school.”  
“You go to school?”  
“Dude, Title 9. I skipped two grades and saw you at the middle school lacrosse state champion ship last year. How did you not see me? Was your minion like, up your ass or something?”  
“Holy shit no. He’s like my brother. You however, I haven’t seen in like…”  
“Six years. And who is this, Stiles- ya know tall dark ridiculously good looking and panicking in the back corner? Are you wheeling and dealing or dealing and wheeling?”  
“What.”  
“Are you dealing him strait or are you trying to own him.”  
“Iri, why would you even say that?”  
“Its been six years since we last talked. You don’t write, you don’t call, you don’t dance with us on Samhain. I don’t know you any more. And for that matter, i think I’ve been too.. familiar with you, Stiles. Feel free to call me Lady Irial like everyone else.” Her expression tightens and her control of her whole body goes tense like she was raring to burst into a fight.  
Stiles sighs and slumps. “He wants his sister back, Iri-“  
“Irial.”  
“Well, Irial, I will have you know I‘m no less your cousin than I was then. My mother died, my father spent the next few years trying to drink himself to death and get shot. I’ve been busy, ok? The Hales died too, and I have been deep cover and trying to both keep the supernatural out of Beacon Hills and avoid Mab’s notice.”  
“The Hales? They aren’t supposed to be dead. At all. The family isn’t supposed to die off for another 5,000 years and Talia isn’t supposed to die until the night the U.S women's soccer team wins the World Cup again- which won't be for a few years yet. They can’t be-“  
“They’re dead. They’re all dead, except me and Peter. Give me back Laura. Please.” Derek burst out, his stoic facade dropping in frustration. “Just. I want my pack back. As many as you can return. Please.”  
“The Hales are dead, and if I bring back anyone who’s already been declared dead then it’ll be a mess, Ok Derek? I need Laura’s body.” Her eyes softened, and she flicks her wrist, blocking the conversation from Derek’s ears. “Stiles… If you don’t want Mab’s attention join the Wyld Court. You have wyld and winter magic. Like a spark in ice. You have power. You’re right. You’re just the same. Dealing contracts for too little, ineffably kind in your dealings. It doesn’t fit your heritage, does it.” She leans in and grabs Stiles’ flannel shirt. “But I know better. I know your kindnesses, as they might be are only selfish. I know you. You want to play human but the weakness, the mortality disgusts you. I was there the night you called in the favor from a dragon and killed the Seelie queen for insulting your mother. I was there when you sold Scott McCall’s drunk bum of a father to The Wild Hunt for a bag of knuckle bones. I deal harder than you. Don’t cross me, Genim, Fox of the Unseelie. You won't win”  
Stiles eyes go hard “I wont cross you, cousin. But i know you in turn, and I know your greatest weakness isn’t your vanity like so many fey women. It’s your loyalty and your love. I would remember those you hold dear before you threaten me, even if you are death. I may not win, but I’ll make it hurt. Oh, and in and Irial? Derek is mine. If I so much as catch you looking at him the wrong way, I will cut out your damn eyes.”  
She smirks. “How about some San Angelo’s eh, jackass? You know. After we go get Laura. Get to know each other again. Do we have her clothes?”  
Stiles nods and lets Iri lead the way to Derek’s garden. “What’s your price?”  
“Three good sparring matches and room and board until I feel like going back to school.”  
“No. You can’t stay that long.”  
“Unless you know what the hell is going on here, I don't think you have a choice Stiles.” She ask, sounding disappointed. Way to make a guy feel loved.  
It turns out reviving someone who’s not meant to be dead is no big, if they’re not meant to be that way. Irial leans over Laura’s face in her alpha form and breaths on her face, a glowing mist drifting from her lips. Then she’s completely whole, alive and awake- and as Stiles predicted, she still thinks she’s fighting what ever killed her.  
Irial though- well Iri is one of the best warriors in the Wyld Court and she fucking knows it. She moves, dancing flowing around Laura until Laura realizes that she’s fighting a different enemy than the one that killed her- and that they’re playing with her. Like she isn’t any more threatening than a newborn kitten with a laser pointer. Stiles giggles at the comparison.  
Stiles glances over to Derek, who’s body is tight and his aura fearful and his worried, like he thinks Laura might be a zombie or something. His eyes are narrowed and offended. Really, Stiles thinks his sister is one of the best fighters he’s ever seen, short of one of the Courts. And Irial? Laura can't lay a hand on her. She’s out paced, Irial is too fast. How powerful are these things, Derek wonders distantly. Then it’s over. Laura freezes and shifts out of her alpha form, looking around with a bewildered grimace. “Who are you where did Peter go?” Her gaze focuses on Irial then Stiles before landing on Derek. “He- he attacked me that filthy bastard. How did I get here? Derek?”  
Derek freezes and his face goes blank and his eyes go glassy and hurt.”Peter? Peter did this?”  
“Did what Derek? Teleport me? Tricky little bastar-“  
“Laur, he killed you.”  
Stiles and Irial lock eyes. Kin-killer? Irial mouths, her emerald eyes flashing blood red.  
His mouth tightens, and he nods. Iri grimaces.  
Something’s not right in Beacon Hills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a big thankyou to whoever is reading this- and stay with me there are characters that I'm dying to incorporate. Scott, Allison, Lydia, and Isaac, ect.


	5. Lose Yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irial's perspective, some Stilinski family history and a monster- Stiles probably hopes this wont be par for the course.

She was conceived and carried and born of magic. Her fathers were both her blood. Stiles was a natural birth, his father was human, though he certainly wasn’t. There’s a Native American parable that seems made to describe children born like Stiles, half fey, half human.  
The one about the two wolves fighting within you. One is good one is evil, and the winner is the one you feed. In his case though, the more he indulged his fey side the more sidhe he becomes. Vice versa with his humanity. But he’s different than her  
Stiles had this elusive human proper to him Irial envies. Fey love and love deeply yes. But they don’t do so easily or freely like Stiles did. Love came long after trust, as it should but only rarely. So in a way, she is ashamed that she still loves Stiles at all. The same way she is ashamed when she bends her fingers around cold iron, salt and grave dirt. Its unnatural for fey.  
Irial smirks darkly at her cousin from the back seat as her valiantly tries to distract Derek and Laura from their painful family revelations. Being the spirit of death incarnate (with creepy helpers!) had altered her world view, to say the least. Humanity had never been enviable before. Werewolves had never been enviable either. They were to mortal, to cut off from the ebb and flow, the breath of the earth, too bound to the chill of the moonlight.  
So she may be smirking more balefully than darkly at her cousin because of her own social incompetence and jealousy, rather than at him at all. She was thinking about slumping into the seats and being woeful and morose in general, now thoughts of her brother had invaded- because he would be overjoyed, always, upon seeing Stiles. But Niall’s (apparently) allowed to have his own life and his own friends. Who seem to try and screw him eight ways to sunday on a fairly regular basis. But Iri isn’t to interfere or call while he’s out ‘finding himself’ what’r the hell that means.  
Yes, that was why she was staying, aside from what’r the fuck was going on with Beacon Hills. Angst. And maybe to stage a hostile take over of Stiles kitchen. Make herself useful. At something legal. Sheriff would be so proud- Iri was of the opinion that Sheriff was in fact, Stiles’ father’s legal birth name, and had no proof to the contrary. But Sheriff liked all the things Iri couldn’t do at home (when they had visitors- which was nearly always it seemed,) like her paintings. And her cooking. And possibly her ability to spar verbally with her older cousin, Before. Capitals necessary and audible. Before Aunt Saoi died- gods was so devastating- she knows she’s thrown herself into a mental tangent so she didn’t have to look at Stiles, who was by all rights another brother to her. She just couldn’t look at him with out seeing his mother- his mother who was the only woman in her life.   
She’s behaved badly in how she greeted him, perhaps. His boy and Laura were pressed as far into the doors of the jeep- which they didn't need to know wasn’t really a jeep, but a fey steed. Stiles was faux relaxed in the way he was bantering- attempting to banter with the two werewolves. They weren’t really cooperating. The tension was palpable- thick. To those of the fey persuasion who fed off of emotions, it taste faintly of cayenne, but mostly of pineapple. It was good, so good, but to feed off of any with Stiles claim on Derek- yes, she knew but had feigned ignorance to so she could confront him about it. Gods- she’d hated having to do it but she’d needed to know how much Stiles had changed, how much Stiles had relied on the cold of his Unseelie nature to survive his mother’s death. The death that had destroyed what remained of Bree’s tenuous ties to the Unseelie court, the death that had led to a war between all three courts- still on going. To the point that Niall and Irial had been trained as an assassins, because the best defense against assassins were assassins, and cutting the middle man was just logic- one less person to betray you.  
So she couldn’t help review the political climate of the area. There was a lot Stiles didn’t know, or care about. Thankfully, he lived on Wyld Court territory. Irial’s portion, specifically. Where he was protected from the Seelie court- though representatives from the Unseelie were allowed to watch over him in case he was going to join them as was his birth right. Though Bree hoped- prayed, even, as much as fey did, that Stiles would follow his mother and uncle into the Wyldwood. Into the fledgling court that was carving out a place uniting the lawless, court-less denizens of the region. They controlled only a tiny portion of the Wyldwood’s sprawling territory, but they liked it that way- after all, the woods went on and turned into the Briars. The new court that couldn’t help but thrive while its neighbors were at war, its people united by a clannish construction, Irial and Niall’s birth having cemented their position as the rulers of the court. This area of the human realm was uncontested Wyld court territory, for over one hundred miles in any direction, two-hundred in some, so it was really well protected. Conquered by Stiles’ mother, former honorary queen of the Wyld court.  
But not a true queen because it had been done in secret, without her abandoning her position as first in line to the Unseelie throne. It had been by her proxy, a phooka named Jazel, who had met her mysterious demise last year- Irial, of course wasn’t involved… in any way that could be proved anyway.She didn’t kill her or order her death any way.  
Then they were pulling into the Stilinski house drive way. Iri could almost hear Soai laughing from the flower beds and feel the icy snap of her power, but it was Stiles’ power and laughter living in the walls. It wasn’t the same. It was wrong holy hell its WRONG- Irial’s stomach turns violently and the blood drains from her hands and face and her lips feel like they’re turning blue. The blood is rushing through her ears and her throat is clenching as she stumbles out of the jeep and wretches on the lawn.  
“O—K i guess thats why you haven’t visited, then.” Stiles snarks.  
“Sh- shut up. Go to-“ she wretches again, “Hell. Stiles. Hell.”  
Stiles blinks. “You really don’t deal with loss well, do you? You’ve just-“  
“Not thought about it? Bite me, asshole.” She snaps.  
“Mom dying really took a toll on you guys more than I thought. Is it always this bad when you realize she’s not-“  
“You’re half human, Stiles. You actually have the apparatus to heal this kind of grief. Fey are immortal. We don’t have to loose people like humans do. I am incapable of dealing with this the way you can. You have scars, I’m still bleeding. This is why fey seldom love, seldom get attached even within their own families. You know that, we’ve been telling you since you started talking, Stiles.”  
Stiles gnaws on his bottom lip and shifts his feet as Iri pulls herself upright, then wobbling. Stiles sighs and curls his fingers around Irial’s and pulls her into the house. It was still wrong, but the contact forced Iri to focus on Stiles, his energy. It wasn’t peaceful, it didn’t have the energy it should have. It felt sad. Devil’s wart. Was that a chitauri that she could feel forming? How was he living here?  
Stiles sits her at the dreary kitchen table. The house feels like death, and she is an expert. It’s oppressive. The only bright spot of happiness is Stiles flock of wisp.  
“I can’t stay here. You can’t stay here. Oh my god, how are you letting your dad stay here?”  
“Irial. I know. I don’t care. This is where mom lived, and where she died I can’t leave. I just can’t. Dad has suggested it and I told him no. I nee-“  
“Genim. You need to let go. A fey death taints walls like these. The energy released when a fey dies in a building like this outside our realm is toxic. This is how the most evil things are formed- death leaves large amounts of energy behind, energy festers and sours into something rotten. Creature emerges into a fetus form, creature starts feeding on the buildings inhabitants ect., ect., ad infinititium, bam you have a baby myth in the basement, and even you being fey, dont notice the damn thing because you’re too depressed because it is literally going to suck every bit of your happiness away until all thats left is despair and then it will eat that too and you and your father will die, understand me!” By the end she’s pale and shaking, she’s yelling and Stiles is frozen.  
“Did you just say there’s- THERE’S A MYTH IN THE BASEMENT HOLY SHIT. Everyone out. OUT OUT OH MY GOD WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE FUUUCCCCCCCKKKKKKKK—- OUT, OUT NOW-“  
Laura’s brows furrow, but she doesn’t actually move. “Isn’t a myth just a story? What’s with all the-“  
The basement rumbles menacingly, and the floor boards groan as though some thing huge was pushing on them from below  
“I think it heard us.” Derek says.  
“NO SHIT!” Laura fires back, dragging her brother towards the door as the floor starts splintering.  
Irial and Stiles exchange a look- the one that had their parents ducking for cover when they were little- and do the only thing they can. Stiles starts spraying the myth- gods, its hideous- with shards of ice as it breaks through the front wall. Irial starts pulling deep, not on death magic, but the fiery summer glamour she’d inherited from Puck. Some where, Laura shrieks in pain, and the air crackles with ozone as the cousins fighting syncs, and suddenly they were one power, one heart beating in two bodies as the desperation of one mirrors the other. They twist and pour more glamour into the force of the explosion they’re weaving and concussing around the myth.  
They’re sweating, Stiles’ skin is beginning to peel in the heat, Derek’s own lips cracking as he and Laura scamper backwards in awe and utter terror. They’re so young, Derek thinks. This is to much power for anyone so young.  
There’s nothing left of the house at all Irial muses mid battle with a sense of victory the instant that it becomes apparent the myth is too young to have gathered much power. That they’d survive this.  
The pair draws deep on their glamour one last time and shattering jingles clink as the ugly thing’s slime begins to crystalize and then explodes.  
Iri drops panting to her knees like a puppet with its strings cut. Even so young a myth was a powerful force to be reckoned with, a force that cannot simply be touched by the power of death. They must be obliterated by flames like the books of Alexandria- not the whole thing burned fortunately, the branch of the monstrous library that had crept into the Wyldwood had survived- but all that was left of the Stilinski house was a scorch mark in the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its me again. Whooo! Kind of beta'd but not? One of my friends said its not awful at least, and hopefully that at least means some thing, I'm aridiangelo on Tumblr- feel free to drop by.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> basicly scott and stiles talking. and stiles and crew arranging to camp out at the mccall's- because the mccall house is at least 5 bedrooms right?

Chapter 6 Change of Ideas  
Five days after getting bitten in the woods and some obsessive and invasive training on Stiles part- training that he had in no way volunteered to participate in, but forced him to gain control his shift none the less. But getting a phone call just as he finally sits down to do his homework- homework that was due yesterday no less, and getting a call saying the Stilinski house had had a freak explosion and been completely leveled? “Stiillleesss, are you serious. You cannot- Can. Not. Be serious right now. This is like the worst week in the history of history.”  
He hears the tinny sound of Stiles laughter over the phone connection. “I know, man. Totally insane. You’re a werewolf now, I have no house- oh, shit man my laptop- all my school stuff is gone. My notes from Satan’s class were in my room. Shiittt.”  
“You’re so screwed, bro.”  
“I know. Can I stay at your place? With my cousin is in town though.”  
“So you, your dad and your cousin. Which one?”  
“Her name is Irial.”  
“Dude- is she hot?”  
“I thought you were obsessed with that Allison girl.”  
“Hey, I need to know what to tell my mom before your dad calls.”  
Stiles heaves a put upon sigh. “I guess she’s ok looking. She’s like 5’ heart shaped face, her eyes are like emerald green, black hair, pale skin and freckles. Willowy build?” Stiles drones, like he had been forced to memorize the description, “I mean. She’s like my sister, she couldn’t handle that mom died so she hasn’t been around, but still. It’s gross.”   
“Whatever. She’s probably not any thing special. If she is you get to talk to my mom.”  
“Man, just tell her that Irial has like 30 some odd high level masteries in martial arts and is a grade ahead of us even though she’s like 2 years younger and a good foot shorter. Pint sized little squirt.”  
“Ugh, why didn’t you just say that she’s 13.”  
“She’s different though. Not like most 13 year olds at all..Just a warning, bro.”  
“Different how?”  
“I can’t really explain, but you’ve met bro, at the park at my birthday party the year before my mom…”  
“Oh. The one who your dad ended up having to arrest because they beat the shit out of a child snatching- pedo?”  
“Yeeaahhh?”  
“Dude no way. Beacause I dunno about you man,but if the assault an every day thing, because if so thats a definite nope. I don’t want her any where near my mom”  
“No. No. That’s a if I think I’m going to get abducted by a child raping monster thing- she only goes after people who’ve done something horribly wrong like that.”  
“Not helping.”  
“What, did your mom get a rap sheet a mile long while my back was turned?”  
“No. But she didn’t turn in my dad and I’m fairly sure he did some fucked up stuff.”  
“See what you can do. I will see what I can do on my end. She isn’t going to go after your mom, Scott. If she understands anything it’s family, and she knows that just because you dad did something twisted- which you have no proof of- even if she finds a human skull in the walls, she wont blame you or your mom.” Stiles insist firmly.”I mean, if you think your dad was bad have me tell you about my grandmother.”  
He hears Stiles shudder over the line. Scott groans “Come on Stiles, throw me a bone here. I can help you but i need to know whats going on.”  
“… I am an Unseelie prince. There’s your bone, now gimme. Puppy eyes on your mom, chop chop. You handle your mom, I handle Irial, Irial cooks for the week, deal?”  
“I guess.”  
Scott feels the soles of his feet tingling and a pull in his belly, a not unfamiliar sensation. “Ugh. Why do I feel like I need to go do that now I have homework.”  
“Unseelie prince, fairy deals, you inadvertently make and incredible number of bargains with me- bargains that you’ve no choice but to up hold.”  
“You’re a fairy? I’m besties with Tinkerbell?”   
“No, jackass. Think more brothers Grimm fuck with me I fuck you up faeries. Fey, specifically. The word fairy is a slur, and I’m offended.”  
“You’re ridiculous. And I still hate you.”  
Stiles laughs. “Love you too man, see you later. We just got out of holding, Irial is done with interrogation. She’s dragging us to the farmers market, what do you guys want for dinner, Irial is like some kind of savant with kitchen stuff.”  
“Ok. That is weird. Your ass kicking, genius cousin is also like, a chef? Is there anything she isn’t good at.”  
“I can get you a list. Im just going to stop have to at the Mac Store real quick and get a computer. We can put her school disciplinary record on the fridge.”  
“Dude. That is the opposite of a good idea. I thought you were staying here. Just tell her she can make whatever, mom gets home around 7:30 or 8.”  
Scott can make out some muffled murmuring, Stiles and a girl’s voice. “Irial says she’s going to be making some enchiladas. Bye, Scotty.”  
There’s a click on the other end of the line as Stiles hangs up. This. This is going to be interesting. God, why did his best friend have to be utterly bonkers. And apparently a mythical creature. But who was he to talk? After all, he had contracted lycanthopy recently.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy this, I plan to make this a chaptered fic.


End file.
